Come and Find Me
by TeslaTheWalrus
Summary: 'Waking up was hard. The floor was cold and rigid. "Castle?" she muttered groggily. If she was in such a mess as this, he simply had to be involved. But all was silent.' Kate Beckett is rarely afraid, but this all-too-real scenario is playing on her every concern. Castle doesn't know where she is, only that he must find her before time runs out and he loses her for good.
1. Chapter One

Hello friends from TeslaTheWalrus,

To clarify, this account is the imponderably amazeballs combination of writer and fangirl KT (FanFic: katietheunicorn, Twitter: Green_Tiger_21) and the brains in this business, Verity (Twitter: HummingAtNight). We thoroughly hope you enjoy what we write together and that you feel we have done our magnificent characters justice!

Now, read on, fine fellows, _read on!_

Love KT & Verity x

* * *

Waking up was hard.

The floor was cold and rigid. With a sweep of her arm, Kate Beckett also learned that it was damp.

"Castle?" she muttered groggily. If she was in such a mess as this, he simply had to be involved.

But all was silent.

Through the haze that engulfed her mind, Kate struggled woodenly into a sitting position and analysed the room around her. There was a small window at the top of the wall across from her, revealing early morning sunlight. The walls and floors were bare concrete and there was a metal door to the right. The sun streamed in through that window, promising a New York springtime's comforting warmth, and Kate could even hear the birds singing not too far away, as well as the distant hum of traffic as the city awoke, but in here it was cold and quiet. Turning away from the light, Kate stood and looked around. The room was wide enough for her to place one hand beneath the window and the other on the wall opposite. It was slightly longer than it was wide, and a narrow cot fit in the corner, opposite the door, without sheets yet still inviting after a night on the damp floor.

As the foam mattress sank under Kate's weight and the metal underneath creaked, Kate thought of how she came to be here. She remembered last night, talking to Castle on the phone for two whole hours after dinner and then going to sleep in her bed. Her soft, warm bed.

Kate did not truly begin to worry until the sun was high enough to glint off the damp patch on the floor, revealing its quite startling scarlet shade. There was only one likely origin. Combing herself for cuts and scrapes, Kate patted the side of her head and it hurt so much she let out a yelp. Her hair there was thickly matted through with congealed blood; it had been so soaked in places that the jellified clots slithered around whole like tiny worms swarming through her usually silky hair. Now her temple throbbed, the hammering in her skull sending pulses over her body, which worsened her shivers; she wore no shoes or socks, and while her shirt had long sleeves, the cotton was hardly insulating. She continued to shake; she rubbed her arms to warm them, and the hairs she could see on her forearm flattened, indicating she had achieved at least partial warmth, but her shivering continued. Cold or fear? She could not tell.

Drawing her legs up to her chest, Kate tried to think of any moment during which she could find a reason for her being here, but there wasn't one. She thought of drifting lightly to sleep in her bed, still chuckling and still feeling the flutter of butterflies in her stomach that only a phone call with Castle warranted, because it was the highlight of her day and she looked forward to nothing more. But after sleep, there was just blackness.

And that scared Kate Beckett.

She felt the skin of her back – there was a puncture mark. Kate sighed and put her head in her hands. Somebody had put her here and she wanted to know who. She hated them for taking her at her most vulnerable, dressed in a blue shirt of Castle's and an old grey pair of sweats, with her gun still safely shut in the dresser beside her pillow. Her personal weapon was in the closet, too. She felt bare.

Devoid of any other way to occupy herself, Kate approached the rusting door and knelt down to inspect it, earning a creak from her stiff joints, plagued by a night's sleep resting on the floor. She gazed at the dripping lines of red oxidation streaming from the lower hinge down, betraying the door's nature as some kind of ferrous oxide, based somewhat on compounds of iron. Probably steel, she assumed; it would have to be very old, very low-grade quality steel to be in this state, and that told Kate that she wasn't in any old apartment building; this structure was old. It might even be industrial; it was rare for apartment landlords to cover closets with steel doors, and they did, after all, want to generate some revenue, so they'd no doubt create a friendlier environment for people to live in. Kate worried she wasn't even in Manhattan, though she knew better than anyone that there were still neglected areas buried behind the glories of 5th Avenue and Times Square. She certainly knew that no building in central Manhattan would admit to such a door as this – if she remained in Manhattan, it was on the outskirts. There would be a river close by, she was sure. The door mocked her as she thought of flowing water. Even as she thought of the delights of knowing where on this planet she was. There was a sliding hatch at the bottom of the door, which induced a flutter of fear deep in Kate's stomach, for she thought of a long-term stay during which her captors might like to keep her energised. With this thought came an array of sick possibilities, and her shakes became shudders, so she tried to put that out of her mind; she didn't know yet that she was here to be tortured. There was also an eye-level hatch in the door which didn't surprise Kate much – they'd want to check she was still alive if they were going to feed her. The hinges of the door were heavily eroded but still sturdy, no doubt, and there were three of them. While Kate did not even want to thank about the lock, she examined it anyway, and noted its technical keyhole and distinguished brand name; she knew this particular locksmith company manufactured locks to sit in doors with up to ten tumblers, which even a mastermind may have trouble cracking.

Disheartened already by the disappointing nature of the door, Kate returned to her pathetic cot and sat with her back up against the wall and her arms propped on her knees. This was a terrible situation, she knew, and she'd been alone last night, so nobody would think to look for her, and, especially, nobody would think to look for her here. If memory served, it would be a Saturday today, and she was not working. It was wrong of her, but she almost hoped a body would appear somewhere; then her team would know something was wrong when she didn't show. They'd have the intuition they needed, and the incentive, to go looking. Then the only problem for Kate and for her search party would be her location.

Resting her head on her hands, Kate let out a deep sigh as she thought of her predicament and the sheer impossibility of escape or, at this point, rescue. She might feel better if she at least had a motive. She might feel better if she knew who had come to her home during the night and stolen her away. She might feel better if she had something to do, for her unoccupied mind was a hazard in itself for the images it conjured.

She wondered what Castle was doing – probably writing. Oh, Castle, she suddenly thought, and, in becoming overwhelmed by her longing for him, her demeanour at last faltered and a crack allowed what lay beneath to become visible. She took one sobbing breath, a gasp, then sat in silence, trying not to breathe. Again, a single snatched breath whistled through her like the sound of nails on a chalkboard. Tears of despair began to manifest at the corners of her eyes. She wanted Castle, she wanted him to come and find her. But how would he even know she was gone? They weren't due to meet today; neither had even promised to call again. Come on, Castle, she thought. She always seemed to know when he was getting himself into trouble – it was like a sixth sense. She could only hope that he shared the same affinity for personal danger. Please, Castle, she thought. Castle, she thought. She needed him. She felt hollow and empty without him. She wanted to know what he'd suggest – how he'd approach this. For the first time in her life, Kate Beckett found herself muttering to herself, _Think like Castle_.

But her every rational thought was scattered like rabbits in response to the sound of a gunshot as footsteps echoed along to her doorway. Somebody was coming. A man with a heavy tread, probably boots, like workers' or bikers' preferred adornment. Not too tall – his footsteps were not that far apart. All too soon there was the screech of metal from that top hatch – she knew she'd soon see who was holding her and she – Kate Beckett in her rawest, most instinctual openness – was scared.

She was afforded one final thought before a face became visible, and that, much to her surprise, was quite simply, _Castle_.


	2. Chapter Two

Hey guys,

So it's been a while, for which I, the writer (_katietheunicorn_), apologise, but I'm afraid exams and more boring stuff got in the way! I have been working hard, so I hope you like this update. I have also been coaching my grasshopper, the brains behind this business (_HummingAtNight_) with her FanFiction, "The Guradian of Shadows," which you need to look up! I also made the cover art.

Other lovelies are _WriterLeigh_ and _katieupatree_ (who pay me in cake for the covers I make them).

Furthermore, I am usually a spoiler-free zone but have found something pretty scary going on at _TheBubbleDeath_ on Twitter, so you should probably check that out.

OK, I'm finished rambling!

Enjoy!

KT X  
_ Green_Tiger_21_

* * *

The sun was streaming in through the glass, and it was caressing in its morning hopefulness, giving merely the slightest insight into Spring and all that it might bring for those that mattered. Castle rose as per the invitation of the sunlight, already daydreaming about what these beautiful new days might bring now that he could say he'd be spending them with Kate, happily baking in the bustling heat generated by a city under close scrutiny of its sun, clambering up to roofs with piña coladas and strawberry daiquiris, wearing very little and caring even less; even their phone call last night was certainly not the first, and he expected it would be one in an extensive line of many, finally warranting the unlimited calling time available to him, and it had left him grinning so purely he could not fall asleep; even now, he smiled at the thought of how sweet Kate was on the phone, or how neither of them wanted to hang up, though they were both so tired, and so instead they lay and listened to each other's yawns and quietly murmured words, revelling simply in the regular sounds of their breath.

Thinking about that call, Castle resolved to dial her again tonight and maybe catch her while she was enjoying a glass of her favourite red on the couch with a book, or settling into her oversized bathtub, or even snuggling down into bed and smiling at the light scent of lavender and the incomparable cottony softness of clean white sheets, then grinning even wider at the faint pink stain on the pillow on his side of the bed, where a shocking crimson rose petal had sat but weeks before, fated to be crushed, spilling ruby red blood across the vast expanse of white. Picturing her smile like this created an even larger rift in Castle's heart, he ached to see her so badly; it was like this whenever they weren't together – he could hardly bear it. In some novels he's read, it was described as though the fair lady had taken her prince's whole heart with her when she left for the day; to Castle it felt like Kate had cut out her own piece, leaving a bleeding mess behind, jagged and far from healable.

On his way into his kitchen, Richard took out his iPhone and hit speed dial number one.

He was surprised when he didn't even reach voicemail, but instead heard an ascending tune of three notes in some horribly computer-generated false instrument. He tried again. The same motif greeted him. Worried she was out of signal range, Castle committed to paying a surprise visit to her apartment later that day.

Until then, he thought, a Smorelette would make a wonderful breakfast, and a cup of coffee which would sadly be lacking Kate's magic combination of what was likely vanilla, cinnamon and something of an additional, secret ingredient; her powder potion reminded him of nutmeg coffee, except that it was several thousand times better.

The loft was filled with deathly quiet as Castle sat at his laptop, staring at his sixteenth blank page this month, waiting to be filled with sequences and swirling patters of infinite combinations of twenty-six simple letters like its predecessors. He wasn't happy, though, because he knew this was the chapter in which he'd have to write about the wonderful holiday Rook and Heat were sharing in the Hamptons come crashing to an end. He wished he was back there with Kate, and that a murdered man would not stumble into his backyard pool. It wasn't even the sex he longed for, though of course that was an added bonus. No, he simply wanted to be able to lie there with his beautiful Kate, gazing into her eyes or stroking her hair or feeling her relaxing in his arms as he delicately kissed the top of her head. He wanted to be with her and to be able to love her with a gentleness and kindness in their beautiful paradise, unburdened by the week's troubles or the hammering noise of traffic in the morning.

Sighing, Richard tried to let go of his daydream and get something down for chapter sixteen, because he knew full well his deadline was tomorrow – Sunday – and he knew he wouldn't be finished because he'd spent at least half the month sleeping at Kate's apartment and so was only jut starting the second in his two-chapter month. Gina was going to breathe fire, he knew, or – what was it? – something about dripping honey on his eyeballs? He couldn't quite remember, but he had an unsettling feeling that bees would no doubt be involved where there was honey concerned.

Throughout the day he typed and typed and typed, watching his word count creep upwards, but he felt uninspired and so the words snaking across his page seemed to lack meaning. They lacked Kate, and they needed to contain the essence of her, else they wouldn't be Nikki, and then what was the point of it all?

He tried her cell again, in vain.

Getting back to writing after making his fourth cup of coffee that day, Castle wondered if perhaps Kate had at last made that visit to Coney Island she'd been committing to for weeks now, but had never actually left for, and that was why she was out of signal range.

Detective Heat made a break for NYC, leaving Rook to his mansion, and Castle finished his coffee.

"Darling!" called an all-too-familiar voice laced with eccentricity as the door slammed.

Thankful for any excuse to procrastinate, Castle leaped up from the chair at his desk and shuffled into the living room.

"Ah, I'm glad you're home – I thought you might be at Katherine's again," Martha said as she set down a bag from Fifth Avenue and touched her hair, analysing its perfection in making sure not a single strand was out of place.

"What can I do for you, mother?"

"Now, as you know, darling, our Alexis's birthday is fast approaching, and I just had a simply wonderful idea for a surprise party!" Martha enthused, bold as ever.

Oh, no, thought Castle, cutting a sideways glance toward his bedroom, in which he could just about spy his wallet resting safely on the nightstand, credit card lighting up like a beacon in his mind's eye.

"And what do you have in mind?" Castle asked hesitantly, bracing himself.

"Ah, now I'm glad you asked!" Martha began, consuming the room as ever, commanding even the furniture to fit her scene as she ran through the movie in her imagination, the leading lady being herself, of course.

"Now, I've been watching Alexis recently, getting to know her routine–"

"You've been spying on my daughter?!" Castle cried, appalled.

"Out of love, dear! This has to be perfect!"

Castle's face became one of concern, his single raised eyebrow alerting Martha enough that she huffed and let her posture fall forward, revealing her disdain in response.

"Really, dear, I was a safe distance away – there was a time when you asked me to tail her – you remember her secret valentine?"

He couldn't really deny that. Not wanting to admit anything, he said, "Please continue."

"Thank you," Martha replied with a slight winner's tone, resuming her usual, elegant posture. "Her birthday is on a Friday this year, and she only has classes in the afternoon to evening – she finishes at six, so we should get a nice glow as the sun starts to set brilliantly behind the wonder of the New York skyline!"

Castle sat and watched his mother's endless gestures, the spreading wide of her arms very effective in denoting the sprawl of the city.

"Now, she goes past a small park, very scenic, dear, and there are four big oaks, see, and they make a square closest to the road she walks down. So, we buy lanterns – many lanterns! – on a string and tie them between the trees, yes? We all wait on the dark side of the park, then jump out for our, "Surprise!" And we make a special cake and everyone brings their own chair, and of course you take one for Alexis – rustic, don't you think?! It'll be wonderful!"

Silence ensued as Castle deliberated. Alexis did love nature – she was a member of Greenpeace. She also loved cake. And she hated everyone giving her attention, but she loved surprises. And she'd walk past and wonder at who might have put up those lanterns because she loved lights and colours and pretty decorations. Richard decided the pros outweighted the cons by rather a lot.

"Actually, mother..." he started.

"Yes...?" Martha answered in excitable anxiety, waiting for the go-ahead. Although, they both knew she'd either do it anyway with her own money or think of a bigger and better idea.

"It's actually quite perfect," he said, not trying to mask his incredulity. Martha gave him a playful glare in response to the tone in his voice. "I love it, let's do it," he smiled.

"Yes!" Martha celebrated, pumping her fists a little. "Wonderful!" she danced forward and kissed her son's cheek, then grabbed her keys and continued her one-person party as she left for the street, leaving behind her shopping bag. "Must dash, darling, so many things to plan! I'll be back later, don't worry about–"

The door slammed before Castle could worry about whatever it was he wasn't supposed to worry about, and he chuckled.

It was six P.M and, as Martha had predicted, the lengthening days sent a warming glow through the windows, splashing onto the carpet, almost ready for sunset.

At last Castle felt he could happily make the trip to Kate's, knowing his chapter was more than half finished and almost 3,000 words long already. He picked up his own keys, which now had a photo key ring on it, framing a beautiful photo Alexis had taken at his birthday party, of Kate in her surreal but stunning black dress, the exposed skin of her back golden and flawless, dancing with him in his tux, her head resting on his shoulder. They were both looking towards the camera, caught by surprise but happy and comfortable in each other's arms. He grabbed his wallet, too, but left his jacket, smiling at the increasing warmth enabling him to leave in only a shirt and a pullover.

He walked the twenty minutes from Tribeca to Kate's vintage building, enjoying the post-rush hour calmness and the sun washing over the city. He just couldn't stop thinking about the sun and all its splendour. The sun as it bathed Kate's tan skin in heat. The sun as it highlighted her hair with tints of blonde. The sun as it invited her to remove her jacket and show bare arms, soft and smooth.

Several cyclists zoomed past, and one man bumped Castle's shoulder as he passed, but Rick was just too happy to care. It was a wonderful afternoon, and the anticipation of seeing his Kate again sent a flutter down his spine, though it had been but a day since he last laid hungry eyes on her smile, on her eyes that were not quite green but not quite brown, either, or on her smooth cheek as she wiped tangled hair from its surface. At one point he even skipped, and watched that sun shoot rainbows from the glass of his watch.

Reaching Kate's apartment building, he was more fretful than ever to see her. He took the stairs two at a time up to the third of the four apartments. Kate's apartment.

Castle knocked, but the slight force he had put upon the door allowed it to swing open slightly.

It was unusual of Kate to have left the door unlocked, but Castle wondered if she'd seen him coming from the large window overlooking the street, or even if, like him, she found herself with an odd sixth sense tingling, knowing he was coming.

Walking from room to room, Castle noted that the bed was unmade, which was also atypical of Kate. The alarm clock was on the floor, which made Castle chuckle, because she often threw it somewhere when she was frustrated that she couldn't find the snooze button. Of course, throwing it didn't silence it, and so she'd have to follow it to pick it up and place it back in its place on her nightstand.

So why was it still on the floor?

Castle began to worry, especially as he passed through the living room and the lamp that usually sat beside the sofa had been tipped sideways and was now leaning precariously against the wall.

"Kate?" he called out.

He glanced back at the open door, beginning to pull out his phone to ask Espo or Ryan if they'd seen her.

The lock was broken.


End file.
